Skyfall
by Onesmartcookie78
Summary: "Jack's hand on the small of her back was electric as he pushed her as close to him as possible. She felt his fingers slide down a fraction, delving slightly beneath the fabric at the base of her spine. He was positively intoxicating. And she was drowning." Dark-ish!Jack/OC. Rated M for Jack. Hints of Janto, some Jealous!Ianto.
1. The Fall

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**A/N**: Forgive the _Sherlock_ quote; I couldn't resist. Beta'd by **maggalina**. Will update at **5**** reviews**.

**Disclaimer**: _Doctor Who_ and _Torchwood_ are the products of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

The sky exploded in a cacophony of screams, alternating between the shrieks of a child, the terror of an old man and any sort of painful screech one could imagine. Bright colours swirled round and round, colliding in the centre to form a whirlpool of flames. Out of the funnel fell a woman, bare as the day she was born, plummeting into the pool from a luckily reasonable height. Some say her eyes were closed as she dropped from the sun, whether it be in fear or something more inescapable, though others claim they were open in wonderment.

The general public had not a clue what to do. She had yet to kick to the surface- in fact, she had yet to move. She was sure to drown if someone did not soon rescue her. And -as is the norm for these occurrences- no one had called the police and requested assistance, each civilian believing someone else would.

Thankfully for the woman, there was one man who was not simply a run-of-the-mill citizen. Captain Jack Harkness was far from ordinary. True to his nature, Jack followed the "rescue now, ogle later" rule and dived into the cool water, retrieving her body with only a quick pass at her breasts. So maybe he didn't follow the rules completely. Sue him. At least he had saved her.

He pulled her body -slick with water and covered in goosebumps- out of the water. He conducted CPR, mechanically noting the shape and feel of her lips and breasts (he was only a 51st century human) as he gave her breaths and pumped her chest

She finally came back to life, crystalline eyes half-lidded in order to regard him whilst she spluttered the water out of her lungs. His shirt had been long ago abandoned near his pool chair and he reached for it, affording the woman some modesty, though she stared at him blankly enough to make him think she cared little either way. She didn't say anything, though she was now capable, forcing him to speak first when he'd been expecting at least a thank you.

He went with the obligatory question in this scenario: "Are you alright?" His black hair was dripping tiny drops of water over her forehead. He wondered vaguely if that was annoying her, then decided that he had saved her life, so she shouldn't care. He made a point of not-so-subtly checking her out, watching with abject satisfaction as her nipples hardened at the breeze produced from his actions.

Her response did not come and he rolled his eyes. Seemed he would have to do everything. "Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Her long lashes didn't falter, and he looked on now as tears fell from her eyes. A shaky, pale hand reached up to touch his cheek, catching his attention. He turned his head to the side, his shamelessly flirtatious nature kicking in as he threw her a to-die-for thousand-watt grin before kissing her palm.

She found the energy to roll her eyes at him, her saviour, and smacked him lightly on the cheek before extracting her hand and signing to him. Jack knew the basics of sign language (it was part of Torchwood's training) but he couldn't understand the hand movements.

"Back to the base then," Jack muttered, lifting her fireman style over his shoulder and shoving her anti climatically into the SUV.

* * *

"What's your name?" There was no reply, not in sign language nor aloud.

"Where are you from?"

Jack observed from the oneway mirror, eyebrows furrowed, as the woman didn't deign to acknowledge Gwen.

"Do you know where you are?"

Her only reaction was to shoot her interrogator a dirty look, as though to say: "am I supposed to?"

"Were you trained for interrogations?" She stiffened at the posed question; then her shoulders started shaking. Whether she was amused or crying, Jack could only guess. "Are you a soldier, then?" The woman paused in her random fit of emotion, raising her head. Her face now displayed, Jack determined that she'd engaged in a bout of silent laughter. "State your name, rank, and serial number."

"I don't know!" The woman exclaimed suddenly. "I don't even know if I'm really American- if this is my real accent! It feels very much like I could do all sorts of accents. Go on! Give me one! Make it as specific as you like!"

Gwen wore a bemused expression, "I'm sorry, what?"

"No, no," she giggled, "as the interrogator, you're meant to ask the proper questions- the ones you really want to know the answers to, not the ones that mean nothing."

Gwen composed herself, "What if that is a question I want to know the answer to?"

"You'd be mad to want to know what's going 'round my 'ead." The woman did her best cockney accent (and it was rather good) whilst wagging her finger, "listen to me, calling you mad like I'm from East London! It's brilliant! And contradictory..." she trailed off. "No, you don't want to know what I'm thinking. You'd send me away if ya did. It's insanity, it is. I can't wait to wake up!"

Gwen mouthed the words "wake up" before scribbling them down. "Back to proper questions, then? Have you been interrogated before?"

There was another eruption of giggles. "Have I-?" Full blown chuckles, "you want to know who I am?" She switched to a posh English accent seamlessly, "who I _really_ am?"

"Yes," Gwen deadpanned.

"I have no idea!" She threw her arms up in the air joyfully, "it's great really, fantastic! Isn't that odd though? To not know one's name? '_What's in a name? A rose by any other word would smell just as sweet.' _Oh, that was quite lovely, a bit of Shakespeare to brighten the day! Like I was saying, bit strange of me to not know my own name in my own dream, innit? 'Specially when I know your name, Gwen!"

Gwen's mouth opened and closed as she fought for control again, physically deciding to steer the conversation to a different course. "Why do you think this is a dream?"

"It's got to be, hasn't it?" Her tone implied that she thought Gwen just a bit thick for not catching her meaning. "I mean, I got saved by _the_ Captain Jack Harkness, Face of Boe, flirt with pheromones to die for. How could this not be a dream?"

Jack snickered at the praise, receiving an eye roll from Tosh and a snort from Owen.

"Okay, I give!" Gwen groaned, "how do you know us?!"

The woman bit her lip as though considering if the information was indispensable to her captors. "No idea," she decided on, reverting to sign language.

"Bloody hell!" Gwen was acting out of character, fed up with the infuriating enigma, her people skills failing her. "Why are you using sign language again?"

"Too loud. My head hurts. Have you ever had a godawful headache, Gwen?" She signed politely.

Gwen let out an exasperated sigh.

* * *

Three days later, The Woman -whom they'd all taken to calling Irene Adler in their notes- had been questioned by Owen, Tosh and even Ianto. On the fourth day, and as a last resort, they had made a last-ditch effort to communicate with the now silent woman. It seemed that any delusions she'd had on her reality had long since passed, what with the arrival of night and sleep and yet no change in environment.

The Torchwood team had allowed her a shower and fresh clothes each day, treating her as they would a guest and ignoring any duties the might have had previously to focus on The Woman.

And so, on the fourth day, The Woman was faced with Jack.

"I want to try something different," Jack informed his teammates, as they studied The Woman on the video feed. She'd fallen into a pattern over the last few days, waking up early in the morning to shower and then eating the food they provided her. After that, one of the Torchwood team would collect her and try to wring out any amount of data they could, whether she was willing or not. The Woman did not speak at all, despite the numerous number of attempts. And now Jack was looking for a different approach.

"What else can we try?" Owen complained, "the bloody bird won't say anything, so what's the point?"

"No, he's right," Tosh interjected, "there a got to be another way. "What are you going to do, Jack?"

"Take her on a walk around the facilities," Jack decided.

"So you're going to flirt with her," Gwen groaned, "we don't need this, Harkness- she doesn't need it. Respect her a bit."

"I have no respect," Jack looked put out at the suggestion that he may -in any way, shape or form- possess the ability to allow an innocent female some sort of dignity. "And I didn't say that I was going to flirt with her-"

"We know you," Gwen cut him off, "that's what you're going to do. That's why we kept her from you for so long; you might frighten her!"

"Woman falls from the sky, nearly drowns and is rescued by the equivalent of a devil with an angel's visage- I doubt she'll be afraid of Jack," Ianto snorted, "nevertheless, don't overdo it, Jack, I'm warning you."

"Or else?" Jack teased.

"Yeah," Ianto nodded.

"Or else what?" Jack's voice dropped seductively, and Ianto had to force away a blush. "Will you do naughty things to me, Ianto-"

"That's enough out of you," Gwen warned him, "go do your thing, but try not to confuse, scare or seduce her, alright?"

"No promises," Jack called over his shoulder.

Gwen opened her mouth to reprimand him, but was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging shut. A few moments later, Jack appeared on camera. He said something to The Woman and she flushed a deep red before nodding and taking his proffered arm.

* * *

"Hello," Jack purred the greeting to The Woman as he entered her rooms, "would you care to take a stroll?"

She jumped at his sudden disruption, though what she had been doing, he wasn't sure. Her back had been to the door, and therefore the camera, rendering him clueless. She rose quickly, turning around and flashing a quick smile. He took a moment to inspect the spot where she had just been, but saw nothing laying abandoned. Her fist, however, was clenched, something Jack took note of, but didn't comment on. Her expression suggested that she believed she had fooled him, signing "okay" to him.

Jack offered her his left arm, thinking he had her- she would have to un-ball her fist if she was going to accept. And un-ball her fist she did; it was empty. Whatever had been in her hand was gone.

* * *

"So," Jack started, keen to keep her at ease, "have you decided on a name yet?"

The Woman contemplated his question, and then countered it, "Why am I still here? I highly doubt it's for my scintillating conversation skills, nor my firm grasp on reality. Something to do with my arrival, then, which implies that you lot are just as uneducated on the matter as me. Disconcerting for me, since Torchwood is supposed to be the experts on extraterrestrial... though perhaps you're too busy staring at the rift for that?"

Jack's jaw clenched. He had analysed her habits over the past few days and had thought that silence was her game, other than a few cryptic remarks interspersed at random intervals. Now though, she seemed to be set on constructing the illusion that she would only talk to him. Well if that was the case, he was going to get as much out of her as he could. "While we're asking questions, would you care to have sex with me?" Well, after he flirted with her. Just a bit. Innocent, really.

She blushed, but pushed the words out of her mouth, "I thought you were more subtle than that?"

"I can be subtle or I can be serious; which would you care for?" He stopped on the platform, positioning her across from him so that there was little space in between them, raising his eyebrows suggestively at her as it began its ascent.

"Mm, I'll take the sex. Shame you're not wearing a tie- I would pull you in with it." She leant in closer, winking.

"A tie is just an article of unnecessary cloth." He breathed, his face inches from her's. Should he end the game? Neither of them would win at this rate, and he had no doubts that she was just having a good bit of fun, like him. They didn't have anything to gain in sleeping together, except perhaps mutual pleasure.

"I bet you think that about all clothes," she retorted, just as winded as he.

"You know where your clothes would look good?" He murmured in her ear, hands finding her hips to close the remaining gap. Why was he doing this? Oh, right, because it was making her talk. Whatever it would take...

"In a pool at my feet?" Her hands had found his hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.

"On my bedroom floor," he agreed, hands smoothing up and down her sides.

"Was that an invitation?" She moved her head away from him, tilting her chin up so that she could peer into his icy blue eyes.

"A promise."

"Rain check," she giggled to herself, disengaging from him and stepping outside. "Jack, did we just have a flirt-off?"

He couldn't stop himself from grinning wickedly at her, "I do believe we did. Let's do it again some time."

"Can't be too soon though, I'll be busy." She said casually, skimming her fingers along the water streaming from the fountain.

"Doing what? You're essentially our prisoner."

"I see role play in that," she turned the table, veering off the true topic again. "Into bondage, Captain?"

"Only on special occasions," his comeback was smooth as he watched her.

"Mark the date I tell you my name and we'll make it a holiday," she snickered, "I haven't had this much fun in ages!" She turned solemn suddenly, "Jack, I need you to do something for me."

"You're not in the position to be making demands," he reminded her, the humour gone from his eyes.

She ignored his reply, continuing as though he hadn't asserted his authority. "I need you to bring me The Doctor," she all but begged, rotating to face him, pale grey eyes sad.

"Why?" He could scarcely keep the suspicion from his tone.

"I will only talk to The Doctor," she repeated, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an old fob watch. "He and I need to have a chat."

"Give me your name and I'll get him," Jack was unwilling to compromise.

"I don't know my name," she finally admitted, seeming shamed, growing desperate, "what I do know is that I need The Doctor. And as quickly as you can get him."

"You need to answer some of my questions first," Jack shook his head, stepping towards her.

The Woman backed away, but he matched her steps until she was flat against the wall, scarcely a breath separating them. "I will only speak to The Doctor," she was losing her edge, her voice faltering, cracking, failing.

"You seem to need The Doctor pretty badly," Jack mused, "tell me what I need to know and I will get him for you, all right?" He waited for her consent and then blundered on: "now what do you remember?" Jack was being as gentle as he could in his probing, beginning with a simple inquiry.

"I remember falling," she whispered, "'_falling is just like flying,' _you know, '_except with a more _permanent_ destination.'_ I thought- I thought I was surely going to die-" she choked on her tears and Jack's eyes softened. "I don't remember anything about me, who I am, who I was... it's all a mystery. I know who you are, though. I know who The Doctor is, who he will be, who he's travelled with and who he has yet to make his companions. I know what Torchwood is and who runs it."

"How do you know," Jack demanded harshly, "how do you know me? How! You kept going on about how this must be a dream. Why? Why can't we be real?"

Tears streamed down The Woman's face, leaving salty trails in their wake. "I must be from a different dimension- a parallel universe," she confessed, "I remember you all from the telly; there was a TV show called _Doctor Who_ that followed The Doctor's life and a show called _Torchwood_ that detailed yours. That's how I know you. And that's why I need The Doctor- if anyone knows what's going on, it's him."

"What's with the pocket watch?" He finally wondered aloud, giving up on encroaching her personal space and retreating slightly.

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to him about," her eyes dropped to the dirty pavement, "it's a fob watch. Time Lords use them when they want to take a different form; it's sort of like a portable identity crisis. Inside hides the Time Lord personality. I was clutching it in my hand when I fell into the pool -thanks for that, by the way-" Jack winked at her, "and it's been whispering to me, begging me to open it," she seemed nervous of the thing, holding it delicately as though it might bite her. "It's got all the possibility of being a Time Lord fob watch, since it's got the solar system -the one where Gallifrey is, I suppose- and engravings that may be Gallifreyan words."

"So?"

"I- I have reason to believe that The Doctor isn't the last of his kind. I'd rather not open it until he arrives though," she shrugged, "might be something nasty and I'd rather not be alone if it's legitimate. Not to mention he'd want to know," she rationalised. "You know what I don't get though, Jack?"

"What's that?" Jack tilted his head to the side at her, cocking a single eyebrow.

"Why you haven't called me insane," her countenance showed insecurity at the thought of being crazy.

"I've heard weirder," he said nonchalantly, "fancy that rain check now?"

"Not in this lifetime."

"The next, then?"

"You can't die."

"If you're a Time Lord, then neither can you," he pointed out, leading her back to her room.

"Time Lady."

"Excuse me, your worship," he snorted. "And if you won't sleep with me in reality, I suppose I'll have to wait for sleep's wistful embrace to start fantasising."

"You're already fantasising," she snickered, yanking her door open, "it's okay though," she leant up and breathed in his ear, "so am I." With one last wink, she closed the door in his face.


	2. Diminuendo

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

A/N: I'm nice, so I'll post the next chapter, depite not quite get the response I was hoping for. Reviews are delightful and actually make me garner the motivation to post. Thanks to the lovely **maggalina** for Beta-ing.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

It was to be a few years before The Woman met The Doctor.

A month was spent exchanging sexual innuendos with Jack, irritating Gwen by refusing to speak to her in anything but sign language, engaging in intelligent conversation with Tosh (she was not yet sure what her career had been, but she appeared to know a good deal about computers, chemicals and weapons) and teasingly suggesting -however subtly- that Owen was nowhere near as attractive as Jack, much to his protests. She had not seen much of Ianto (though she suspected him to be eluding her for her interactions with Jack) and hadn't had a moment of alone time; just when she thought she would be left in peace for the night, Jack would come into her rooms and speak to her. Sometimes they flirted more -and with the bed right there and his access to the cameras in her room, he had been able to propose more than a few reasonably attractive offers- but mostly they talked. What about did not concern either of them; any and everything was fair game, from the colour of her knickers to his opinion regarding boxers, briefs and -as he'd pointed out- going commando. That topic had obviously veered back to his control over the cameras and a sly remark that she could simply have a look herself. Occasionally, he would finger her fob watch, tracing the designs before she would grow nervous over such a possession in his hands and request its return. Lastly, there were moments, very far and few between moments, in which he would allow her the quiet she craved. On those evenings, he chose to rifle through her drawers, always ending up in the one containing her knickers.

All in all, she had a favourable stay at Torchwood Three (to which Owen had scoffed that Jack must have told her they were in Cardiff, and she had pointed out that had he told her that, there was still no reason for her to know that the Cardiff base was Torchwood Three as opposed to One or Two or even Four. Owen just didn't want to believe that his existence was limited to the television in an alternate universe) though she felt more lonely than ever. Jack's constant presence put her in relative ease, repairing the void her misplaced heart had left, but even his form of comfort was not enough.

One night, as they lay on her bed, her eyes closed and his fingers carding through her hair pleasantly, they revisited the topic of a name for her. Jack made more than a few suggestions, though none were serious, and all sounded like he had come across them from a calling card at the nearest strip club.

"Cotton Candy," he reiterated, "I'm telling you, it has potential!"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," The Woman sighed, "something that suits me, Jack."

"Why don't you chose then," he whined.

"I do not know who I am. I'm ill-equipped to select for myself," she shifted closer to him, rolling onto her side to rest her head on his chest. "You know me better than I know me, Captain."

"Is that so? I suppose I'm obligated, in that case," he mused, "not sure what the point is though, if you're just going to have a Time Lord title in the end."

"Mm, what would be your Time Lord title?" She buried her face into the crook of his neck, feeling him shift onto his side to face her, one arm looping around her waist, his other clenching on her hair for a second. "The Captain? The Face of Boe? The Hunk? The Lady Killer?" She finished in a murmur.

He chuckled, "I like the last one."

"Thought you would," she smirked.

"What about you? What would you be?"

She raised an eyebrow, not hesitating for the first time before answering, "The Assassin."

"What makes you say that?" He frowned; The Doctor hated violence and if that was her real Time Lord title, he wasn't sure how accepting he would be of her.

"Just a joke," she brushed it off, "it doesn't mean anything."

"And if that is your title? The Doctor would not approve."

"If that is my title, he would be a fool not to," she laughed, feeling him tense. "It was a joke, Jack. I would never hurt the good Doctor."

"Let me guess; you had a crush on him back in your world," he snickered, but felt fire course through his veins at the thought.

"Mm, the Tenth and Eleventh Doctors, maybe," she conceded, "but you were my _Torchwood_ crush," she kissed him on the cheek. "Which reminds me," she leant in and whispered in his ear, "there are no prison cells with beds in them in Torchwood Three. I know this is your room, Jack. You need to sleep."

"What do you think I do when you drift off," he rolled away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed, his face hidden in the shadows, back to her.

"I don't think you sleep. I think you're tired, Jack. I think you make it seem like you're enjoying the day, like you're having fun with your _life_-"

"Stop it!" Jack hissed a warning, head turning darkly to glare at her from out of the corner of his eye His lips thinned, a feral look cutting across his visage.

"-but I think you feel the most alive when you die. I think that's why you throw yourself into all sorts of dangerous situations. You risk your life to prove you're clever, and if you die, it's all go-"

Jack's hands were around her throat as he loomed threateningly above her, "I said to stop," he growled.

"You wouldn't kill me," she scoffed, "The Doctor would know. You've already told him to come and-"

"How much does he care on a scale of one to ten, would you say? He doesn't know you! It's been a month since I contacted him and what good has that done? He hasn't come yet! He might never come-"

"He's always late!" She shrieked, "don't say that! You know it's true! He'll make a little girl wait fourteen years before she becomes his companion and it's completely unintentional-"

"I didn't even tell him that we suspect you to be a Time Lord-"

"Lady!"

"-so he doesn't care. You're an oddity, but not his top priority," he sneered derisively, "he doesn't care about you."

"You're right!" She screamed, "he doesn't! No one in this world does! I left all of the people who did behind when I jumped dimensions. I thought The Doctor would be able to come the closest though; he's a compassionate man and might not be the last of his species. I thought that was incentive enough to justify the beginnings of a good friendship. But you're right- he hasn't come, even at a plea for help from an innocent. No one cares for me.

"I've annoyed Gwen beyond doubt, Owen doesn't like me because I don't find him attractive, Ianto won't even speak to me and Tosh is the only one who I get on with."

He laughed humourlessly, swallowing harshly before replying, "And where do I fit in the picture?"

"I thought we were friends," she muttered. "We could've been great friends- best friends, even." A tear ran down her cheek and drew his attention back to his hands. Jack was quick to relinquish his grip, brushing the salt water from her lips before placing a light kiss there.

He pulled back a bit, gauging her reaction. She was breathing harshly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and he could hear her heartbeat pounding out of her ribcage. She propped herself on her elbows, sharing his breath. He didn't move, didn't touch her as she experimentally -tentatively- brushed her lips against his for a second time. A sound somewhere in between a whimper and a moan fell from her vocal chords as he desperately responded to her kiss before she ripped her mouth from his, head falling back on his pillow.

He made a frustrated noise as she inquired unsurely, "What are we doing, Jack?"

"No idea." He was honest, blue eyes searching her gaze as though looking for something. He must have found it too, because he ground out, "Oh, fuck it" before diving back in.

With that exclamation, her slim fingers found the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet her lips again, mouths pushing against each other aggressively. He fisted his hands in her long, brown hair, jerking her head to one side to get a better angle, his tongue forcing her mouth open as she undid his braces and started working on the buttons of his shirt. She made an exasperated sound at the fastenings, irritated at her lack of finesse due to her impatience. Jack chuckled lightly at her reaction, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat.

Fed up, The Woman jerked at his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as she finally managed to push it off, only to find his white undershirt. "Goddamn it, Jack! What happened to unnecessary articles of clothing?!"

"That was in reference to ties," he reminded her gently, muscles rippling as he removed the fabric for her. "And in the end, didn't we determine that no clothes are better than any?"

"We also said that my clothes would look good on your floor. Care to share why they're not?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Patience," he scolded her, "there's no rush."

"Patience is a virtue I don't have," she snorted, digits tracing along his biceps, pecs, down to his hard abs.

"I wonder what other virtue you don't have?" He challenged.

"Now might be a good time for me to find out what sort of underwear -or lack thereof- you wear," she said huskily.

"Need a name first," he pushed off of her, standing and stretching. He retrieved his undershirt, throwing that on before scowling at his ruined button-up.

"Jack!" She whined.

"Patience," he repeated, winking.

* * *

It was weeks before the Woman could properly look Jack in the eye, though it mattered little as the Torchwood team could no longer put off their work to babysit her. They found that she could be trusted to be left alone, and Jack occasionally had her give them tech support from at the base. Ground support from Tosh was fine and all, but the computers at the hub were much more helpful for certain things.

And it was months before she could stand to be in the same room as him. She had been left alone in his room, love bites down her neck, hair ruffled, lips red and finger shaped bruises around her windpipe. Was there any reason she shouldn't be angry?

Jack, on the other hand, was just as cheeky as ever, seeming to revel in her obvious awkwardness towards him. He flirted with her constantly, and she found herself returning his brand of banter-though she did not mean to. He also made up excuses to touch her, and if there was no excuse, it was because they were in a casual enough situation that no one thought anything of it. Then there were those moments where his eyes _burned_ into hers from across the room, smouldering with heat, an inferno of lust... and yet he did nothing but wink at her and and turn his attention elsewhere.

She often wondered if he was being deliberately elusive as well, because when she made to single him out, he vanished and when he wanted to chat alone with her, she was incapable of getting a word in edgeways. Not to mention the number of times she had broached the topic of his room to him, only for him to abruptly depart or talk over her! She wasn't even trying to talk about the kiss or -to be more accurate- _kisses_. She only wanted to tell him that she could get a hotel room if he so desired.

The only one who seemed to notice the change in the relationship of the two was Ianto, and he made it clear that he was pleased with the outcome by finally conversing with her.

* * *

Six months later, The Woman -still unnamed and planning to keep it like that (her epitaph was helpful when dealing with certain aliens)- had determined that Jack Harkness was either a coward or simply wanted to forget what had happened.

And to be perfectly frank, _she_ just wanted to forget at this point. Just like all of Torchwood; Tosh and Owen were both dead- as much as she wished she could have saved them, she hadn't wanted to disrupt the timeline any further. With their deaths came newfound freedom, as she was finally allowed out of the hub without supervision.

With her liberty, she found the nearest library, got a card, and spent hours upon hours reading. The books she didn't finish came "home" with her and the only time she was interrupted was when Jack texted her with a mission. She was happy to work, as work meant pay and pay meant she would eventually be able to get her own place. She didn't worry that Jack was paying her -like all of Torchwood- out of his own pockets, since he'd had decades (centuries?) worth of interest on his money in the bank. He had more than enough to spare.

The Doctor hadn't come yet and she was disappointed.

* * *

Ianto died later on. Again, she had done nothing to stop it and Jack blamed her this time. He had understood with Tosh and Owen... they hadn't meant as much to him. But to let Ianto, _his_ lover die...? He suspected jealousy on top of greed on her part.

He was wretched to her in the months that passed, and it was unbearable for her. She kept her trap shut, ignoring his cruel remarks, knowing that he was only saying it because he was hurt, but she wasn't the type of person to take shit from anyone, regardless of their position of authority over her.

She had snapped one day and punched him, unfazed when he threw one back. A full out fight had escalated, him attacking relentlessly and her defending herself with brutal efficiency and counterattacks that dealt more damage than his offensive ones.

She proved herself that day to him, as they sparred until they were both tired, neither triumphing over the other. When they were finished, his blood caked on her hands, some of her hair follicles under his nails, they had come to an understanding. He had embraced her tightly, thumb brushing over her cheekbone before he kissed her forehead.

Her things were cleared from his room the next morning and in their place, she was left with a key to a flat and change of clothes. When she woke up, he wasn't lying next to her, but the spot beside her was warm as though he had just risen. She was glad to know he had got some rest.

* * *

She stopped getting texts from Jack requiring her assistance, but a sound sum of money flowed into her account each month, and she knew it was him. She wasn't sure if he was looking out for her or if he simply felt guilty for the way he treated her. Either way, it had to stop. One scenario meant that he still cared for her, which was an impossible thought. She didn't even want to consider it. The latter meant that he either hadn't wanted to exclude her in the end, or felt awful for kicking her out of the hub. That would imply that she was a liability to his emotional stability, which felt too impersonal. One way she meant too much to him, the other her absence was plaguing him for psychological reasons. Neither was a favourable option.

She went to the bank and saw to it that the money stop being fed into her account.

* * *

The Woman and Gwen had steadily grown closer as a result of time passed and shared grief. Gwen was the only one who visited her in her flat from time to time. Jack never came, though Gwen swore up and down that the next time she paid a visit, he would join her. She did that a lot, Gwen; made excuses for Jack. She also promised that he hoped she was well every time she saw her. And informed The Woman that the Captain was "fine" or "alright" or "good" whenever she inquired to his health. Nonsense words that meant nothing in the end- words that covered up the shrouded rage, sorrow and loneliness he was hiding deep within him. Jack, The Woman knew, had fallen in love before. He'd also lost before. No matter the number of deaths you see though, they never leave you. They're always there to haunt you and, as an immortal, Jack would be mourning those he'd grown close to forever.

It was a feeling that had crept up on her as of late. She thought perhaps that such meant it was time for her to open her fob watch. She searched everywhere for it, but couldn't find it.

It didn't matter anyway though; he was never going to come.

* * *

Three years had passed since Ianto's death. Gwen visited sporadically, though she appeared more and more tired each time and the wait in between each social call grew longer and longer until they eventually stopped. The Woman still had her books though, and had managed to scoop up a job tutoring children on how to read and write. The money was decent, but there wasn't much by the way of surplus. She had sectioned off the money Jack had given her all those years ago just in case and wasn't ready to break into it unless she absolutely had too.

Jack seemed to be aware of her organisation because each Christmas, right on the twenty-fifth, another payment would be added to the account. He always finished off the transaction by texting her "Merry Christmas", but she never texted him back.

And he was okay with it.


	3. Fermata

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

Five years after Ianto's death, Gwen sent her a text marked urgent. Jack apparently had the stupidest idea about something or other and she was hoping that if The Woman showed up, he would quit with his bullshit.

The Woman wasn't sure how to feel about that. She was being reduced to an object, it seemed, only called upon when needed most. It was humiliating.

But she would do it.

* * *

Turned out the stupid thing Jack was doing was a _lot_ of stupid things combined to form one act of monumental idiocy. Well, according to Gwen's text messages.

He'd been reckless over the past few years. The Woman hadn't expected anything else. But Jack would love again, he always did. He'd gotten over it before, so why would this be any different for him? It shouldn't. Unless he had loved Ianto more than anyone else. It was possible. It made her heartbeat falter.

Regardless, if he had been throwing himself in the line of fire before, content to play hero, it was now worse. If Gwen was getting shot at, he would leap in front of her. Noble as it was, to die so that she didn't have to because he would come back, it was upsetting the woman. Gwen didn't need him dying on top of everything else. And if he were to finally die for real, it would be on her shoulders and imagine the guilt.

It was with a heavy heart -and even heavier shoes, for it felt as though they were made of lead as she stepped on the lift platform- that The Woman returned to Torchwood. It still looked the same, just as cold, just as unkempt. There weren't people at Owen and Tosh's stations. There was no Ianto to offer her a cup of coffee.

No one paid her any heed as she strolled around, not that there was more than one person anyway. He probably figured that if she knew the back entrance, she knew where to go. No one greeted her either, and she took it to mean that they were busy.

Gwen came running over a few minutes later, having heard the lift, and gave her an enthusiastic hug, gushing about how much she'd missed her.

The Woman mumbled something along the same lines, still trapped in Gwen's embrace, but her attention was on Jack over her shoulder.

"Hi," she whispered, holding out her hand for him to shake. She wasn't sure what the protocol was, for meeting an old boss whom you'd had a sort-of relationship with and who was still covertly paying you. She must have made the right move though, for he accepted her hand and slowly shook.

"What are you doing here?" He looked tired. Exhausted, actually. And he sounded furious. "You weren't supposed to come back." His eyes were slightly frantic, delirious, but he pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her neck, breathing her in. She was drowning in the scent of him, suffocating in the feel of him- and then she was relishing the taste of him as his mouth closed on hers heatedly, insistently.

Gwen cleared her throat awkwardly and Jack broke apart from The Woman with a start, as though he had just realised who she was and the pain she had unintentionally put him through.

"I do hope you don't welcome back all ex-employees like that?" The Woman jested.

Thankful for the distraction, Jack sent her a wicked smirk. "Only you, _sweetheart_."

"Mm, good for me then," she returned his flirting out of habit. "Gwen told me you were about to do something worthy of astounding ridicule and I figured I simply _had_ to see the show. Do please continue on as though I'm not here."

"You can't stay, _sweetheart_," Jack commanded.

"I'm not leaving, _cupcake_."

"I feel like we're missing something," Rhys commented as he joined the trio, he and Gwen observing the staring contest between the others.

"I don't need you," Jack took a damning step towards her, the toes of his shoes in line with hers. "_Sweetheart_."

"I don't care," she crossed her arms defiantly. "_Cupcake_."

"Think we should leave?" Rhys whispered out of the corner of his mouth to his wife.

"NO!" Both Jack and The Woman snapped, their heads twisting to face the couple.

"Why don't you want me-"

"You killed him!"

"The Doctor would have said to leave events to happen as they should-"

"And what has your precious Doctor been getting up to? Has he come yet?"

"He'll come-"

"Yeah, eventually-"

"Stop interrupting me!"

"He's never going to come-"

"Shut up!"

"And there's no way for you to contact him-"

"They bicker like an elderly couple," Gwen grimaced.

"Shut up!" Jack shouted as The Woman bit out childishly: "Do not!"

"Stop talking over me!" The Woman whined.

"You!"

"No you!"

"I take that back; they're five and he's just pulled her hair on the playground," Gwen nodded knowledgeably, "they'll be secondary school sweethearts though and marry after their third year at University."

"Shut up!" They both growled. "Stop copying- pointless!"

"Talk about it like adults," Gwen suggested, "Rhys and I were going to go home anyway."

"Gwen?" The Woman called after her, waiting until she was facing them before inquiring, "the emergency was an elaborate set up in a pathetic attempt on your part to play either matchmaker or therapist?"

"I dabble," Gwen shrugged, "have fun!"

"Hate her," The Woman grumbled, "where to then?"

"Somewhere not here?" Jack suggested, already pulling on his military jacket, "_sweetheart_."

"Enough; my teeth are rotting from the saccharine endearments." He took that for consent.

* * *

The silence stretched thin as they made their way to a small diner just down the road. She would have been happy with takeaway in his room, but he either didn't love to spend all of his free time at the hub anymore or didn't want her near his bed. The latter almost made her giggle. Too late for that. She wished him luck getting the smell of her out of his sheets, considering she'd slept in his bed for months.

The chatter in the diner was raucous and she could tell by Jack's expression that it was irritating him as much as it was her. Neither mentioned it.

They found seats and though she wasn't hungry, she allowed him to order a slice of pie for them to share. She wasn't sure why he wanted to share with her, but with Jack, it was best to take it as it came and give as good as you got. She supposed that when one was immortal and could literally come back from death, one became superb at living in the moment.

The Woman fixed her eyes on the napkin holder, ignoring his blatant study of her. "Hi," Jack started over suddenly, and her eyes snapped to his out of their own accord, her heart pumping faster as she honed in on his exquisite visage. It was a mistake to look at him, she knew; it helped little by the way of getting over him. It made her breath quicken and her pulse race and it still made his eyes glaze over. Interesting.

"Hi," she breathed back, trying not to breath. Damn his 51st century pheromones!

And then they were both laughing and there was no reason. Everything that had happened up to this very second just seemed ridiculously silly in retrospect. But then, everything was clearer when you reflected upon it. People could go mad, wondering what they could have said, what they could have done differently; would the outcome have changed? If so, would it be for better or for worse? In The Woman's reality, speculation would have been fruitless, but when one lived in a world where time travel possible, one couldn't help it.

"What are we doing?" Jack wondered. Translation:_ "how did this get so fucked up?"_

"I don't know," she sighed, though it was obvious they both did. "Jack, can we just talk?"

"We are talking," he raised an eyebrow at her, feigning confusion.

"Like we used to," she clarified, "before-" '_before Tosh and Owen died, before Ianto died. Before you decided it was all my fault when there was nothing I could do. Before you kissed me so passionately, I could hardly breathe.'_ "Before everything."

His lips thinned at the barest mention of recent events, but he swallowed and continued on, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," she suggested, "everything."

* * *

"So I said 'no, you can't have my blaster', and he just looked at me and said," he put on his best perplexed expression and she chimed in, "'why not?'!" They both burst out laughing at that, tears falling from her eyes at the hilarity of Jack's story.

"When did you plan to tell him that it was broken?" She giggled, using her fork to cut into the pie. She put the bite in her mouth, aware of how his eyes focussed on her lips for the moment she shaped them around the fork.

"I was hoping it wouldn't get to that," he admitted, "mind you, I was running on two hours of sleep in twice as many days."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you," she teased, "how are you, Jack? How are you sleeping?"

"Without you," he deadpanned, making her roll her eyes. "I'm..." He fought for the right word, "I'm managing. Things have been hectic and- and we're on the market for some new employees."

"Was that a hint?" She stuck her tongue out between her teeth and scolded, "I'll have you know that I have a job, thank you very much."

"Wasn't a hint," his smile fell, his expression grew dead serious. "It was an order. We need you back, so you'll come back."

With that, the playful atmosphere had completely diminished. The sounds of the other people laughing and chatting faded, her vision tunnelling until it was just him. It had always been just him. "You can't make me," she bit out defiantly, "I tutor _children_, Jack. I have students who need my help. Where's this coming from, anyway? You were so eager to keep me out of Torchwood just a few hours ago."

He averted his eyes. "Torchwood needs you."

"I don't need Torchwood," she had a feeling that his words were loaded. "I've moved on."

"Either you join willingly or I'll make you," he warned.

"You've nothing to threaten me with, Jack," she scoffed, "I have nothing. No family. Gwen is my only friend. What are you going to do?"

"I'll fire Gwen," he decided, much to her horror, "she loves her job. Would you really take away her happiness so that you could have yours?"

Her mouth dropped open, gaping unattractively. A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew he had her. In his victory, he pushed the last bite of pie into his mouth, chewing deliberately. A shit-eating grin followed the action. "You'll catch flies that way," he condescended.

"You wouldn't do that," her voice was low, shocked and shaking with anger.

"Wouldn't I?" He was grim, tone dark, ominous. He wasn't the Jack she knew in that moment. He brought his coffee to his mouth, a nasty glint in his eyes.

"You're pushing me to this job so that you can punish me for something that's not even my fault," she grit out through her teeth, "I couldn't have done anything, Jack."

He disregarded her in favour of snorting derisively. "You knew. And you still let him fall in love with me."

"It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all," she defended herself. "Why's this time so different, Jack? You've loved before -you've lived for so long, you must have- so what makes this different?"

"I wasn't in love with him!" Jack stated, seething.

"I know for a fact that you told him before you died that you did," she sneered, "so in that case, why did you lie?"

"Why, jealous?" He was doing it again, getting in her face. The sexual tension was practically radiating around the two of them and from the way his light blue eyes darkened, he felt it too. "Do I have to explain myself to you?"

"Yes, you lying, manipulating bastard," she spat, "you do. I need to know. Is that what you'll do if I die on your watch? Babble nonsense about how you love me as the life fades from my eyes? As the breath seeps from my lungs-?"

"Stop it."

"-why did you lie to him? Why don't you love him?"

"Because of you!" Jack roared, "it's your fault! I would have fallen in love with him if it wasn't for you!"

"You don't love me," The Woman narrowed her eyes.

"You're right, I don't," he agreed with a sneer, "but I would have loved Ianto if you weren't there. It's your fault that all I could think about when he was dying was you."

"You're lying," tears dripped out of her eyes, "tell me you're lying, Jack!"

"You're not supposed to be here. If you weren't, I would've loved him and I wouldn't have felt so guilty when he told me he loved me. I froze, and it's your fault. But Ianto? He took it in stride, smiled and said 'it's her, isn't it? It's always been her'. And then he died."

"Jack-"

"Stop. Just... stop." He sighed, throwing a few pounds on the table as he rose and draped his WWII coat over his shoulders. He didn't look at her as he stalked away, the fabric of his long jacket swishing dramatically down near his ankles. "You had better be in by 0800 or I'll send Gwen to pick you up... and it will be her last assignment as a member of Torchwood."

* * *

The Woman didn't sleep that night. In fact, she was restless enough that she paced. And when she'd worn the floor with her pacing, she'd found a new spot and began again.

The pacing grew tiresome and she slipped onto her treadmill to relieve some more stress. An hour later she took a shower. Got out and wiped the steam from her mirror. Didn't recognise her appearance, as per usual. Who was the woman of the reflection? She was pallid, little colour on her cheeks and purple bruises under her eyes. Piercing grey eyes had been dulled by time and her inability to find humour in much of anything anymore. They were hard eyes. Dead eyes, devoid of emotion and two dimensional in shade. Eyes that made it all too easy to believe her Time Lady title would be The Assassin.

Everywhere she looked, she saw a monster.

The Woman checked the clock. It was only 0200. Fuck. She decided that her hair was too long and found a pair of scissors.

Clip. Clip.

She sported somehow symmetrical, shoulder length brown hair.

The Woman was still terrified by the caged panther staring back at her; and she had thought Jack made her feel like a wounded animal. She was strong, no doubt. She could break his neck, no consequence.

She was the monster and it was her.

After a panic attack that had her breathing desperately into a paper bag, she got through a five hundred page book, though she could scarcely remember the title, destroyed her room searching for the elusive fob watch and then reset everything.

The Woman cried, screamed and broke a vase. She took the one picture she had remaining of Jack and Torchwood (or was Jack Torchwood? The two were blending together), cut out his face and found kitchen knives. She tacked the crudely fashioned target onto the wall and threw the knives with startling accuracy at his face. She took a step back with each perfect throw, testing her capabilities.

She was a monster. She was probably a Time Lady. And she was trapped.

She was locked in with Jack and it was _all his fault._ He was only meant to be a character from the telly! He was only meant to exist on the one untouchable plane of the universe: fiction. He wasn't supposed to be real, none of it was. She had entertained the idea of her existence here being due to a drug induced dream, but that wouldn't last this long. And so she now faced the most likely -and terrifying- option she could find, and alone, at that. She was in a coma.

It explained the memory loss and the fact that a normal dream didn't last five years. Or maybe this was a reality she'd invented all along to cope with something traumatising? She needed to be sent back. She couldn't be here anymore.

She was dying slowly, she was sure of it. She was going mad and the only one who could stop it was the one driving her to her end. She undeniably needed Jack, but he didn't even like her now.

So why did he keep snogging her? The monster?

He was an enigma, that much was true. She had watched him for years and years and learnt so much about him, only to have the carpet pulled out from under her more than an acceptable number of times. Almost all of the things she knew about him came from his mouth, and though sensuous, his lips crafted quicksilver lies on whim and he had proved to be an unreliable narrator to his own _life_. Or was it lives?

Why couldn't she get enough of him? Infatuation? Perhaps she was too attracted to him. She just needed to shag him and be done with it.

Never mind who Captain Jack bloody Harkness (more deception, since it wasn't even his real name) was.

The most important thing was finding out who _she_ was.

She wasn't Irene Adler. Or "The Woman". Since she was human, she needed a human name. Something to remember her time as a human by. If she really was a Time Lady, at any rate.

So what fit? She could go with the obvious "Jane Doe", but that would be proclaiming to the world that she had amnesia, and she didn't feel like that was something to be advertised.

Half-heartedly, she logged onto her computer, searching "name generator" in a probably futile plea for identity. Her mind veered back to her conversation with Jack, how she'd forced confrontation with him.

Jack was not a sensitive man and he obviously didn't care to speak of his feelings. Neither did she, to be truthful, but things were hanging in the air between them, silence saturated with secrets and calculations and desire. Silence was the absence of sound, so why did it carry so many words?

Why did it augment the pain?

And why did being with him hurt so much?


	4. Glissando

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

She had thought she would come out of her endeavour empty-handed. She was therefore surprised when she came across one name that struck her as perfect: Shaylene, Shay for short. It was unique, but something uncommon seemed fitting for an alien hiding in a human disguise.

Makeup was applied and an outfit was donned; a black skirt that flowed to her knees and a white blouse. Taking a shuddering breath, Shaylene -how odd it was to think that she had a name- strapped three throwing knives to her left thigh and a dagger to her right. She didn't know where the weapons had come from, whether Jack had left them for her or she had bought them unknowingly. It was a distinct possibility; she'd once woke up paying for an apple in a supermarket at one in the morning. She'd asked the employee at the register what had happened and the woman had replied that she'd come in, picked up the fruit and had chatted casually with her before purchasing the apple. Apparently, she'd seemed awake, when in reality she wasn't.

It had been a strange occurrence, though it was not the last time it had happened.

She shoved a disposable mobile phone in her bra, having bought it on a whim because of her ever developing paranoia. Torchwood had a way of getting to you, and once it did, it took over your life. Hence the weapons- her subconscious had determined that weapons equaled safety, and since the subconscious is most active when you are asleep, it had struck whilst she was blissfully unaware.

A watch followed on her wrist, as time keeping in Torchwood was always an excellent idea. Shaylene stuffed her feet into combat boots, not really caring that the ruined the image she was projecting. If the world didn't care for her eccentricities, it could sod off.

She grabbed her favourite jacket, a black leather number with a diagonal zip, and her messenger bag was slid onto her shoulder.

The hub was but a short walk away (Jack had been the one to purchase the flat, so it made sense, she supposed) and with one final glimpse at her watch -it was only 0700- she stepped out of the flat, making sure to lock the door.

Her restlessness was forcing her to go to work sooner than she needed to and she cursed it. No doubt her early arrival would be met with disdain or teasing remarks, followed by silence laden thickly in a coat of awkwardness. It was times like this when Shaylene really hated Jack's naturally flirtatious attitude and her inability to stop herself from responding in kind. It was his pheromones, had to be.

Thinking about how he smelt -a mixture of spices and citrus that didn't clash, and something undeniably _Jack_- turned out to be a horrible idea, because it led to thinking of his appearance. Always with the dramatic, yet dated, WWII coat. Black trousers or white trousers and braces over a white T-shirt hiding under a blue dress shirt. And if he wasn't wearing _that_, he opted for the same pants, the same shirts and a black vest. Thinking of his clothes only led her to think about him with his clothes _off_, which was _never_ a good idea, as it had her blushing.

She temporarily pushed her mind _off_ that particular topic, choosing to ponder on his facial features instead. Once she started on him, his personality, his countenance, it was hard to stop. Her mind wandered to his straight nose, and the jawline he'd once teased Martha about, saying it was what made all of the ladies come back to him. He was very masculine in features, all hard lines and angles. Nothing about him was soft, that was for sure.

Large, calloused hands; they were strong hands, made for shooting and fighting, yet they were capable of such gentleness. Muscles firm to the touch, honed from centuries worth of movement and building. Muscles that she had felt with her fingers before. He was lightly tanned, and his skin had felt orgasmic against hers.

Shaylene shook her head to banish any further thought of the man. She was going to be trapped in a room with him with nothing to do for at least an hour and half until Gwen and Rhys finally came. It wouldn't do her good to walk into that fantasising. In that case, she might as well paste a sign on her forehead declaring herself desperate; Jack would take one look at her flushed face and know. He always knew.

It reminded her of Gwen and Rhys's wedding.

* * *

_Gwen was pregnant with an alien baby at the time, something that amused her greatly, much to Tosh's disappointment. Shaylene had eventually conceded that being delighted at the turn of events when it was Gwen's wedding was bad form, which Jack found funny. At the severity of the situation and the ridiculousness of it, the pair of them burst out laughing._

_Tosh glared the two of them down as they clutched each other in their humour, then went to keep Gwen company and deliver her newly purchased dress._

_Ianto's dry sense of humour caught up with him at the reminder, and he recounted his shopping trip. The tale of which served to cause Jack and Shaylene to laugh so hard they cried._

_Then they'd crashed the wedding, which had made her giggle despite her best efforts._

_The end of the night had concluded in dancing. Gwen and Rhys had twirled happily across the floor and Owen had made a tiny admission of his love to Tosh by asking her to dance. Ianto had no doubt gone to spike the champagne, leaving her and Jack. Not wanting him to feel obligated to ask her to dance, and knowing he wished to speak to Gwen anyway, Shaylene excused herself, only for Jack to catch her hand._

_"Try to have fun," he ordered quietly, "but not _too_ much. Don't do anyone I wouldn't." A smirk had twisted onto his lips, something she shot a frown at in return._

_"Do you think I'm going to shag someone before or after Ianto drugs them all?" She raised an eyebrow sarcastically._

_"If you hurry, you might be able to get some before Ianto puts the retcon in the glasses," Jack suggested, winking._

_"And what if I don't want just anyone?" She sat on the edge of the table near Jack, breathing his air._

_His eyes slid closed briefly and their lips brushed. He drew away suddenly, eyes sparking mischievously, "Remember to have fun."_

_She pulled a shuddering breath through her lungs and then shot back in a snarky voice, "Yessir, Captain, sir," mock saluting before making her way to the bar. She was ambushed by Ianto though, and never wound up at her destination._

_"Want to dance?" Ianto asked cautiously. The pair of them were still walking on eggshells, Ianto knowing he couldn't control Jack, but also pushing to make it clear to Shaylene that he and Jack were together. This, she knew, was an attempt to amend their broken relationship._

_She smiled and abandoned her mission to get as sloshed as she could before Jack made them "clean up", taking Ianto's proffered hand._

_Ianto and Shaylene swaggered to the floor together, and when it became clear to her the Ianto wasn't going to lead, Shaylene took charge. She coaxed laughter out of him, wanting him to have a good time as they swirled around the floor with a flourish that would make Jack's coat jealous. After ten minutes, Ianto noticed Gwen and Jack shifting in slow circles and asked her if she minded. Shaylene gave him an encouraging pat on the back and asked Gwen to dance._

_The two women took each other's hands, twisting back and forth in an exaggerated manner to the slow music. Shaylene caught Jack's eye over Ianto's shoulder and winked at him. All was right._

_And then Gwen went to sit down with Rhys because Jack had cut in._

_Jack's hand on the small of her back -bare with the backless style of dress she was wearing- was electric as he pushed her as close to him as possible. Closer than what was considered socially acceptable at a wedding. Or appropriate anywhere, for that matter. Her hand found his shoulder, and she recalled how smooth the skin there had been when she'd seen it stripped of clothes. His hand captured hers in a caress, clutching the limb to his heart._

_She could feel the organ pounding faster by the second, stared into his eyes as they dilated. He was attracted to her, so why wasn't he doing anything about it? She ignored it for the time being, content to hide her face in his neck and drink him in. He was positively intoxicating._

_"You were dancing with Ianto," Jack deadpanned, his exhale coasting down her neck, making her shiver, goosebumps prickling across her skin._

_"You said not to do anyone you wouldn't," she jerked back to grin at him._

_"That I did," he chuckled, "That I did." He knew though. He knew she was thinking about what had almost happened between them not so very long ago. She felt his fingers slide down a fraction, delving slightly beneath the fabric at the base of her spine. His intense gaze locked on hers and all it would have taken was one touch in return, one stroke of his skin and he would be completely unraveled in front of her. His expression promised it, dared her to do so._

_And then her thoughts flashed to Ianto and she untangled herself. The two men were happy together. She couldn't get in between that. She couldn't be that selfish. She had monopolised enough of his time._

* * *

Shaylene snapped out of the memory, realising she'd walked past the usual entrance. She backtracked, shaking her head at her foolishness.

"Day dreaming?" A voice called from behind her, a hand falling on her shoulder.

Shaylene reigned in a scream, forcing herself to not appear nonplussed. "You know, Jack, I always knew you'd be the death of me, but I'd rather hoped you wouldn't be the killer."

"You twitched " he informed her, sniggering, "so stop trying to look like I didn't just give you a fright."

"This your way of apologising?" Shaylene cocked her head to the side.

"I didn't retcon you when I should have. That's apology enough," he reached the door before her, opening it to reveal an empty office. Her heart twinged- Ianto would most likely have been there, at the desk. Jack seemed to read her mind, for his expression darkened.

"You can't apologise before you've even done anything," she explained rationally, "besides, I reckon you not retconning me then was an apology for how much of a sodding prat you'd been to me before I quit."

"Language," he wagged a finger as an alarm sounded. "Ooh, rift activity."

"You sound like a child," Shaylene crossed over to Tosh's old desk, bringing up the location, "got it."

"Let's go then," Jack herded her into the SUV, tapping his earpiece in preparation of calling Gwen when Shaylene caught his wrist.

"Leave her be, Jack. Let her and Rhys have some alone time," she suggested.

"While we have alone time?" He raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"If we can't handle it, we'll call the pair of them in, alright?"

Jack nodded.

* * *

"Victim is twelve years old, female. Today was her birthday, according to her mum. Her name was Alexandra Gates," a police officer informed them.

"We've got it from here," Jack waved the man away. The man's face turned disappointed and sour before he stalked off scene like all the others.

"You didn't have to be so dismissive," Shaylene chided, kneeling in front of the small body. The little girl's face had been disfigured horribly, almost as though her head was made of putty that had been stretched too far. Her nose and lips and cheeks were sagging off her skull. The observation made Shaylene feel nauseous. "He was being helpful."

Jack scoffed, "I wish we had a doctor."

"No, you wish we had _The_ Doctor," Shaylene corrected, examining the markings on Alexandra's arms; they were deliberate, and almost seemed like... words! The letters slowly started to rearrange themselves, turning to English, spelling out the phrase "I am-" before the translation faded and she was left with nothing. Shaylene made a noise of frustration, causing Jack to throw her a questioning glance. "Thought I had something. Must have been something from my time as a Time Lady... The TARDIS translates all languages, but I would have learnt to speak a few at the Academy. I almost had it."

Jack frowned at her, "So you're starting to remember?"

"No, just a fragment of something. Did I leave my fob watch in your room, by the way? I can't find it, and that watch is _me_." Shaylene leant over Alexandra, examining the back of her head. "Huh. That's strange."

"What?" Jack moved closer to her, putting his hand in her shoulder as he bent down next to her. "Oh."

There was a gaping hole in the back of Alexandra's head, and her brain was missing.

Shaylene just barely made it out of the crime scene before she threw up.

* * *

Their next car ride was to Mrs. Gates' house. The silence was tangible, and Shaylene broke it by asking Jack about the fob watch again.

"We can check," he replied with a shrug.

"So long as that's all we're doing," she pinned him with a glare and the two spun away from each other, only to succumb to laughter a few seconds later. "Seriously though, Jack, I won't be your fuck buddy."

"I didn't ask," came his solemn reply.

"And I hope you never do, or I'll find a way to kill you permanently," she fixed him with a vicious smile. "The Assassin, remember?"

His lips thinned as he pulled over in front of the Gates residence, "We're here."

* * *

Mrs. Gates answered the door at the third knock, her eyes puffy as she wordlessly allowed them into her home. They bypassed the kitchen and went straight for the parlour, where Shaylene's eyes were mesmerised immediately by the beautiful grand piano.

She traced a finger across the keys almost reverently, broken from her trance by Mrs. Gates's sudden inquiry. "Do-" she sniffled. "Do you pl-play? Alexandra us-used t-to."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Shaylene beat him to it, "Yes, I believe I do."

"Will you-?" Mrs. Gates trailed off.

"Of course," Shaylene nodded in understanding, situating herself at the piano before asking, "what was her favourite song, Alexandra?"

"'Moonshine'- no, 'Sunlight'. Um something 'Sonata'?" Mrs. Gates tried to remember the name, but it was hard for her, in between her tears and her recent loss.

"'Moonlight Sonata'?" Shaylene smiled, "she has good taste. I love Beethoven."

"Do you now?" Jack ruffled her hair, staring pointedly at the obvious tell for the song title; the music was distributed on the piano.

Shaylene kicked him in the shin in response, fixing her hair and then beginning to play. As the piece flowed from the instrument, nostalgia coursed through her veins. She'd played this song before, many times, and she had the nagging suspicion that it was her favourite song.

In the background, she could vaguely discern Jack chatting with Mrs. Gates, who had calmed down considerably when she'd heard the song her daughter had undoubtedly played numerous times. Shaylene could tell by the worn state of the sheet music perched on the stand that this was the case. She let her eyes fall on the next page of notes, her fingers only faltering briefly on the keys. Alexandra had luckily written down most of the note names, or Shaylene would have been at a complete loss.

When the song had finished, Jack and Mrs. Gates rose and Shaylene took her place at Jack's side.

"Thank you, Captain," Mrs. Gates shook his hand and then spun on her, "and you...?"

Jack was about to explain that The Woman was her name when Shaylene cut him off, "Just call me Shaylene. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Gates, though I wish it could be under less grievous circumstances. I am so, so sorry for your loss," the empathy in her tone fell flat, and anyone listening closely could detect the faint trace of a lie in her voice.

Jack did.

Mrs. Gates sniffled, "Thank you for playing, Shaylene." She hugged The Woman and then she and Jack took their leave.

* * *

"'Shaylene'?" He tried hard to keep the laughter out of his voice, "sudden decision, or a recollection from your past?"

"Something I chose this morning. What do you think?"

Jack's face scrunched up, "It's good, but still doesn't quite fit."

"Nothing will sound quite as good as the original, and my Time Lady name will sound the best of all," Shaylene acknowledged. "And you weren't very helpful in the process anyway."

"Are you suggesting that I can give you a name?" Jack's smirk grew.

"A nickname, I suppose, wouldn't hurt," Shaylene frowned, hoping it wouldn't be anything too bad.

He deliberated the matter for a moment, contemplating it for all he was worth. "'Bunny'."

"If you call me that, I reserve the right to deck you," She warned him wearily.

Jack ruminated on her dexterity at hand-to-hand combat before determining that perhaps it wasn't the greatest of ideas. "Mm. You should be a Kathleen."

"You just want to call me 'Kitty' or 'Kat', or perhaps some ludicrous combination of both," Shaylene waved him off.

"I take offence to that," Jack pouted, "right, well how about 'Fluffy'?"

"I'm not a cat, so stop trying to give me names related to felines!" Shaylene growled.

"So quick to anger," Jack teased, "you see, that's your problem, right there."

"Yeah? Well your problem is that you can't take anything seriously," Shaylene sniffed.

"You take everything _too_ seriously," Jack countered easily, eyes on the road.

"I treat everything with the correct measure of solemnity," Shaylene defended herself indignantly.

"Careful," Jack warned, shaking his head slightly, "you're being condescending again."

Shaylene made a noise of outrage, temper flaring. "I am not being condescending!"

"What other name is there for acting like you're deigning to speak to me?" Jack raised an eyebrow, his striking eyes landing on her briefly before going back to the street. Even though his once-over was quick, it was enough to incite her further. There was a time and a place for his flirtations, and when she was irritated was not the correct moment.

"Is there another name you'd like me to call you by, _Captain Jack Harkness_?" Shaylene spat, "All of your secrets and you want to call me out on being patronising to you when you're exhibiting the behaviours of a lovesick prepubescent boy?"

"There is nothing boyish about me," laughter rolled out of his mouth, deep and reverberant, showing her how wrong she was, "and you should know that better than most."

Shaylene's lips curled, "Keep it in your pants, Harkness."

Good-natured laughter followed, "Got to be the first time someone's said that to me."

"Stick with me, Captain, and it won't be the last."

How was it that they could go from one extreme to the next? From duelling with vicious words and barbed insults to casual conversation and sexual innuendo that would make her mother -did she have a mother?- blush. His easygoing nature and her inability to remain furious at him when he wore his best seductive smirk. She hated that about him. That one look was all it took to get her compliance. She was putty in his palms, so complacent, and she could do nothing about it. But God, did it feel good to be moulded by his hands. If he wasn't careful, however, she might just wind up slipping through his fingers.


	5. Modulation

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

Jack was sprawled out on the sofa near Tosh's old desk, right next to Shaylene who was currently working to decrypt the alien language. Running it through the database wasn't working all too well, because this particular dialect didn't seem to be in their archives.

"How about 'Lena'?" Jack suggested, biting into an apple. It was the first time she'd seen him eat anything other than pizza and pastries, and most definitely the only time he'd put anything remotely healthy anywhere near his mouth.

Shaylene wrinkled her nose, the blue light of the computer reflecting on her face oddly, throwing shadows in all the wrong places. "Too... _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_," she decided finally, vaguely recalling having read the books at some point during her youth. Were her memories coming back? It was just the briefest flicker, nothing significant, but the more time she spent by Jack's side, the more she was beginning to recollect.

"'Travelling pants?'" Jack raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"It's a book series, Jack," Shaylene clicked on the next module, hoping that it would be the key she desperately needed to unlock the secret behind the message. "Four girls share one pair of jeans that mystically fit each one of them, despite their body shapes, and supposedly bring good luck."

"They share pants?" Jack questioned lewdly.

"Yes." Realising what she'd said, Shaylene attempted to backtrack, but the damage was done. "I mean-"

"No, no," Jack took another bite, "I got this; so they share pants?" He chewed theatrically, prolonging his no doubt witty remark. "I-" he swallowed the bite, "I've actually got nothing."

Shaylene spun on him, disbelief writ in her features, "Surely you are lying, Captain?"

"No, wait," Jack thrust a hand out dramatically, "I've got it. Don't they know how great sharing pants can be? I once got myself stuck in a rather cosy pair of leather pants with a humanoid- now that was an adventure..."

He went into great detail over what had transpired to get them in the trousers, the eventual escape, and then the imminent shag. All the while, Shaylene shook her head at him, tapping away at the keyboard. "You're a sick man, Harkness," she rolled her eyes at him, "but the most disturbing part is that I don't know if you're serious."

Jack grinned in response.

"How about 'Shay'?" She threw out, hands clasped in her lap as she rotated her computer chair to face him. The writing wasn't logged in Torchwood's system, which indicated an alien they either hadn't dealt with before, or mutiny.

Jack scoffed, "Too mainstream. That's what Gwen'll call you," he tapped a finger on his chin as though thinking hard, "I need something... avant-garde."

"Ah, there it is!" Shaylene exclaimed suddenly.

Jack bolted upright, "Did you find something?"

"Yeah," Shaylene breathed, "your intelligence," she remarked dryly, "I figured that after having lived a couple centuries or so, you must have picked up some knowledge. I was actually about to give up on you," she patted his head, "got to say though, Jack, you really pulled through just now. It's progress. Now," she clapped her hands together, "show me what a two hundred year old man is capable of and give me a name for Christ's sake!"

Jack said nothing for a minute, making Shaylene sigh, "You have a minute and three second, or you lose the privilege."

"You sound like my mother," Jack snickered.

"Fifty-nine seconds."

"Why the three after the minute?"

"Three is a cool number. Fifty-one."

"'Lenny'."

"Keep in mind my gender," Shaylene shot metaphorical daggers at him._ If looks could kill, Harkness, I have no doubt that you would have died long before you became immortal. And if I could meet the person who accomplished the feat, I would give them a trophy and pledge my service to them so long as they should require me._

"Right, but I can't associate females with cats," Jack stated firmly, though she could tell he was internally laughing.

_Bastard_, Shaylene complained mentally._ I changed my mind; if I met his killer, I would murder them for stealing my kill. And then, assuming I used a vortex manipulator or The Doctor's TARDIS to do so, I would go back to Jack's death and kill him myself._ "Forty-six."

"'Charlotte'."

"Where are you even pulling this from? Other than out of your arse, of course," Shaylene muttered sarcastically. "Forty-two."

"My backlog," Jack teased, "'Lin'."

Shaylene paused. "No. Thirty-seven."

"Why?"

"Wasting your time, Harkness. Thirty-three."

"'Lydia'."

"I like that."

"Was that more snark?"

"Always."

"Umm, 'Lonely Lynn'," he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Now you're just insulting me, Captain. Twenty seconds left."

Jack opened his mouth to say something no doubt dirty about what one could accomplish in twenty seconds when Rhys and Gwen came in right on schedule.

"Jack, we're here!" Gwen called out, searching for the enigmatic man. "Where are you?"

"We're in here!" Jack called back, vaguely enough to make Shaylene roll her eyes.

"Very specific, Harkness."

He shushed her, awaiting Gwen's response with amusement. Shaylene stuck her tongue out at him, struck momentarily at how easy it was to jump back in with him. Back into the relentless teasing and flirting, like he hadn't blackmailed her. Which brought her to wonder how he would be able to look Gwen in the eyes -and for that matter, how she would be able to look Gwen in the eyes- after his threat from yesterday.

_"You had better be in by 0800 or I'll send Gwen to pick you up... and it will be her last assignment as a member of Torchwood."_

Had she only heard the words with their casual inflection, she would have doubted him, but having seen his face -having seen the accumulation of his rage and his solemnity- that doubt had vanished. Vanquished by the steel in his eyes and the callousness of his replies. His cruelty had known no bounds, and it made her wonder just who he really was. Where did Captain Jack Harkness -his façade, his _mask_- end and where did the real him begin? Under his bravado, the persona he had so painstakingly created, what was he like?

In the café, who had reared their ugly head? Was it Jack's temper that had come to play, or was that who he really was, under the flirtations and that sexy coat?

Whoever it may have been, they were deep and dark and dangerous and she had been on the wrong side of them. That man was an enemy one did not make lightly, reminiscent of "The Oncoming Storm", as she deftly recalled was The Doctor's nickname. She didn't know where the information had come from, as most of the details had faded with the amount of time that had passed. Strange that she should recall such a tiny, insignificant smidgeon of information.

"'We'?" Gwen questioned loudly, her voice growing steadily closer as she approached the sofa at a brisk pace. "What do you mean 'w-'" her blue eyes flicked to Shaylene sitting awkwardly in the computer chair, legs crossed, pen twirling between her fingers. "Oh," she breathed, "oh! You're coming back?!" Without giving her a chance to answer, Gwen grinned, the gap between her front teeth endearing, and hugged her. "I missed having you here! Will you be on tech? Please? I tried, but I don't really understand. Rhys gets frustrated and just bangs on keys at random and Jack always has to take point."

As Gwen continued, Shaylene didn't listen. Her eyes were locked on Jack who was giving her warning glances; icy glares promising retribution (though she knew not by what method) if she so much as hinted at his awful manipulation. Shaylene blinked in response, and then inclined her head the smallest of fractions.

And as Gwen led her away, her lips finally forming the words Shaylene and Jack had been dreading hearing since the woman had arrived, Shaylene could do nothing but say: "Jack made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

At the eyebrow raised lieu of saying 'Go on,' Shaylene elaborated. "A bonus. And he'll be better behaved." She said the second half louder, and based on his chuckle, Jack had heard.

"I'm always well-behaved!" He argued.

"And what about in bed?"

"There I will be as naughty as you want."

"Would you believe that I missed this? The back and forth between you two." Gwen pushed a lock of straight black hair out of her face, Welsh accent warm and comforting to Shaylene's ears.

Jack's voice had been like honey, American drawl evening the words into something familiar. A tempo she knew and a baritone that still sent chills down her spine. After yesterday though, it had begun to grate on her ears; the way his tongue hit the roof of his mouth as he pronounced T's that were softer in an English accent; how the 'sh' sound in 'schedule' was turned to a 'sk'. It sounded clumsy and heart wrenchingly similar to the voices she'd heard growing up. She supposed that made her American. Well, she knew her heritage.

The Welsh accent, though, and the English one, the Scottish, the Irish. They were rounded and polished and delightfully foreign and she loved them better than Jack's bittersweet brand of unknowing nostalgia. They didn't dig up memories of a life she had long forgotten. Those accents promised a new existence; something exciting and vivid and adventurous. A life with the Doctor. A life in a world that wasn't meant to be real.

"You'll get sick of it, I swear," Shaylene winked, guilt dragging her smile down to just barely upturned lips. In her elation at Shaylene's return, Gwen did not notice.

"Especially when we gang up on you," Jack agreed, trailing after the two.

Feeling unnerved at his company whilst with Gwen and uncomfortable at best at having him stand behind her, Shaylene offered to get coffee. None of them could figure out how to work Ianto's fancy machine (not that they had given it an honest try- it was a painful reminder of their loss) but the place down the street made a decent brew.

Jack offered to come with her, reasoning that she would need the extra hands since the little shop wasn't popular enough to have those nice drink holders for four cups. Wanting to be inconspicuous -and recognising that The Woman would not have hesitated to agree- Shaylene assented. Gwen and Rhys decided to pass up on the coffee though, each saying they'd had some before work. Shaylene tried to get out of the impromptu alone time with Jack, saying she would just get coffee for them. Gwen waved her off, calling it nonsense, and told the pair to get coffee, she and Rhys would be fine by themselves thank-you-very-much.

Jack raised his arm in silent request for her companionship and Shaylene was left with no choice. If Jack wanted Gwen under the illusion that he wasn't a bad guy and things were alright between them, she wasn't going to be the one to spoil it.

* * *

The café was quaint, a warm fire crackling to shield patrons from the cool of November in Cardiff. There were two tables made of rich cherry wood and a few chairs crowding them. The rest of the small shop was taken up by a cosy loveseat and a number of plush armchairs.

The woman at the counter greeted Jack by name and understood when he asked for 'the usual' (Shaylene suspected he meant black coffee with a double shot of espresso) and then asked what she wanted. This time, Jack startled her by ordering exactly what she would have. Shaylene forced herself to remain nonplussed at that, not even daring to raise an eyebrow at him. She would take what she could get when it came to this man.

After he'd paid -even at her insistence- Jack led Shaylene to the love seat and an awkward silence was left between them.

"We need to have a serious conversation," Shaylene began.

"I know," Jack neatly interrupted her before she could fully start, "but not here. And not now."

Shaylene's jaw clenched. "Then when?" She managed through gritted teeth. "We need to talk and I want to talk now."

"Then we'll drink our coffee and go somewhere else," Jack's eyes narrowed, "and then we'll talk."

Shaylene bit her lip to prevent herself from arguing, though she desperately wanted to object, and studied the darkening of his blue eyes. His pupils -which always dilated in her presence- were still large, but the vibrant iris seemed to have deepened in shade. Perhaps it was just her perception, but when his personality took a turn for the darker, it seemed to be reflected in his eyes. "Very well," she pursed her lips.

Jack smirked triumphantly, "Glad we're on the same page."

Twenty minutes later saw the pair in Shaylene's flat, silence still the default. Shaylene was folded into her chair, legs underneath her, and Jack sat gracefully, legs crossed, in his own seat.

"So," Jack fisted a hand and put his sculpted chin in it, elbow on his knee. "You have me all to yourself, sweetheart. Are we going to have a conversation or do something about our raging sexual tension?"

Shaylene would have choked, had something been in her mouth. As it was, she coughed, eyes wide. "First of all; don't call me 'sweetheart'. I'm not 'your' anything, other than employee, and that's a stretch, seeing as you blackmailed me into it." She bit out.

"So we are talking. Shame," he eyed her, smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

So he had been joking again. Shaylene felt her eye twitch. "What the hell's wrong with you, Jack? I'm trying to have a serious conversation! I need you to help me out here and maintain some sense of decorum."

Jack sized up, straightening his posture accordingly. "Can you at least understand that this is hard for me? I don't talk about myself -let alone my motivations- to anyone. You say you have seen my life, so you know that I'm not lying when I say that I hate talking."

"Yeah. You always have to take point," Shaylene muttered, remembering what Gwen had said. "And I don't want to talk about this either. I don't mind talking, but emotions..." she trailed off, "a foreign concept. I don't feel like I know much of anything about them."

"I guess that explains your lack of empathy to Mrs. Gates," Jack contemplated. "Why do you think it is that you don't understand emotions?"

"You're being facetious."

"And you're avoiding my question."

"That's not what we're meant to be talking about."

"But we're talking and it's a start," Jack leaned closer, mouth twisting smugly. "So go on. We can move on to other topics after."

"I don't know," Shaylene glared at him, "I don't remember life before this, so I guess I had to relearn some things. And since people don't exactly go around wearing their hearts on their sleeves -well, other than Gwen- I didn't learn them properly."

"So, are you sociopathic? You don't feel anything? Or are you just unable to comprehend what you feel?" Jack was looking at her differently. It wasn't exactly pity, more like a mix between morbid curiosity and sadness at her admission. Either way, it made his baby blues soften on a heart melting level.

"The latter," Shaylene ran her hands through her brown hair unconsciously, nerves making the limb shake. She felt enough towards him to confirm that thought in a heartbeat. Longing, hatred, passion, desire, fear. Maybe love, on a good day when he was being the furthest from a prat he could get.

And then there was her jealousy of Ianto, her resentment for Jack's relationship with him. Their eventual camaraderie and understanding of each other. The devastation when she had come to the crushing relief -and she felt bad for even thinking of it like that now- not to mention helplessness she had felt when she had realised that -like Tosh and Owen- she could not save him. The future was concrete, and she could not alter the timeline.

She was nauseous again, though an alternate version from the sort she had experienced at the sight of the mutilated body of the little girl. Lightheadedness followed in suit and the pounding in her head began.

Jack was scrutinising her with a stormy countenance, and it wasn't until Shaylene uttered the bit about feeling a smidgeon of relief among a sea of other emotions as she recalled Ianto's death that she realised she'd been speaking her thoughts out loud.

Immediately, she clamped her lips shut, sorely regretting the disconnection between her brain and her mouth. To say he looked angry would have been an understatement, though he was not as livid as she had thought he would be. His eyes were still soft and she managed to latch onto one thought as a war was waged in her mind-

She had told him she loved him.

Shaylene's eyes slid shut of their own accord as the world faded around the edges, tunnelling and spinning around the edges until it was just him. It was always and only going to be Jack. He was it for her.

He didn't feel the same.

_But he could._

* * *

Fragile blinking back to the land of the awake didn't do it for Shaylene. No, she had to be difficult and resist the hand pushing her down, bolting upright only to feel another painful jolt in her head. She groaned and sank heavily back down again, Jack alarming her slightly when he chuckled. Steel eyes opened again to take in his amusement.

"Easy now," Jack warned, reaching for water and Advil. He slipped the pill into her mouth, fingers brushing her lips purposely, staying there for much too long. Even though it was only his fingers, his skin was electric on hers, sending shivers down her spine. Jack noticed, but his expression was worried; he seemed to interpret her shudders as a continuation of her sickness... just another symptom. On any other occasion, he wouldn't have doubted that her reaction was due to her attraction to him. Now though... now he was just concerned.

He cradled her head in one hand, raising her up a bit to press the glass of water to her lips. Shaylene gulped down the soothing liquid, the refreshing taste burning her raw throat. Jack pulled the glass from her lips, gently depositing her head back onto the pillow.

The pair sat in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing her lips and carding through her hair. He was lulling her back to sleep and she wondered if he was even aware of the fact. It seemed he was, for as her eyelids began to droop and she struggled to remain conscious, he whispered: "Don't fight it."

* * *

When Shaylene woke for the second time, there was no ache in her head; it was more of a continuous, dull throb. She was also laying her bed in lieu of the sofa, covers tucked around her and another glass of water perched on her nightstand. She drank thirstily, noting that Jack had vanished. She ran a hand down her face and checked the clock: 2300. Of course he'd left! She'd slept the bloody day away!

Shaylene clumsily got to her feet, brain scrambling to sort through all of the information that had been thrust upon it. She remembered everything from her life. The problem was, she no couldn't recollect anything about _Torchwood_ or _Doctor Who_. The information had certainly faded with time, but she could recall even less now.

She struggled to reach her desk, grabbing the diary that lay in the false bottom of one of the drawers. She could not help her paranoia, especially with an object of this momentous value. The object held information of the sensitive sort. It contained everything she could remember.

You see, Shaylene was not an idiot. Not most of the time, anyway. Perhaps only around Jack. But that wasn't the point. Regardless, as soon as she had realised she was forgetting things about the two shows and their futures, she had written down everything she _could_ remember with extreme care and detail. Then, she had promised herself that she would not read it until she absolutely had to.

She bit her lip, wondering if now would be the right time. She determined not, as her growling stomach told her otherwise.

So, with a sigh, she stumbled down the steps. She made it to her pantry and was rifling around for a snack when an arm wrapped around her waist and a tired head dropped on her shoulder. "Feeling better?"


	6. Accelerando

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

* * *

Her first thought was of her boyfriend, Henry. But the voice was different, the weight heavier, the hands calloused and stronger. The head had dark hair and she could feel a smirk curving against her neck as she went stiff as a board.

"Jack," she breathed in recognition.

"Who else?" He pulled away with a raised eyebrow, his intense eyes boring into hers and making her catch her breath all over again. The very sight of him was enough to send her heart pounding in her ears, her blood singing in her veins. His voice sent shivers down her spine and his scent drove her to madness.

Before her sense could catch up, she found herself latching onto him, embracing him tightly and squeezing him as her arms found their way to his shoulders. His hands were sure as he pressed them into the small of her back.

"You act like it's been years since you've seen me," Jack teased, tugging on her hair gently to move her head from his chest so that he could see her grey eyes.

Shaylene might have said something along the lines of: "Might as well be", but the sound was muffled by his lips pressing into hers gently. She couldn't help the tears that began streaming down her face as she kissed him back. Her fingers threaded into his short hair as he brushed the water from her cheeks, digits sliding down her neck, smoothing over her shoulders and slipping around her waist.

The kiss was sweeter than any of the others they'd shared in the past, but both were determined to change the course of it. Eager hands snapped Jack's braces off even as they shoved his coat onto the floor and found their way to the buttons of his shirt.

Jack, on the other hand, slammed Shaylene into the wall, content in exploring her mouth with his tongue and committing her reactions to memory.

Finally, Shaylene's dexterous fingers managed to rid Jack of his white T-shirt, able to trace his torso unhindered. Jack's thumbs barely grazed her breasts, causing her to moan and arch herself into him. He chuckled, his mouth trailing down her neck, teeth on her pulse, tongue hot on her cold flesh. He was giving her as many love bites as a teenage boy, and though she longed to call him out for his immaturity, his technique gave her quite a bit of pause.

And in that moment, all she could breathe was his skin, and all she could taste was his touch, and it was sublime. It was perfection in all that it was. It was the promise of love, plain and simple, and she was falling. Her sky was falling.

His ministrations halted right at her clavicle, where he brushed his mouth over the bone, feather-light. "Jack!" She complained as he held her at arm's length.

"Yes?" A smirk was playing on the corner of his mouth again, eyebrows cocked.

"You can't just-" she broke off as his teeth scraped down her earlobe, shuddering violently.

"'Can't just' what?" Jack winked as he moved his hands under her shirt. "What do you want me to do, Shaylene?"

The use of the name -the one that did not truly belong to her- shattered the moment for The Woman. "I can't do this," she untangled herself from him, shoving him away from her as she straightened her shirt and ran a hand through her hair.

Jack frowned, crossing his arms over his bare chest, completely unconcerned at his lack of clothing, "And why not?"

"I remember everything," she whispered, "and I have a boyfriend, Jack."

His mouth flattened into a thin line, "I see." He retrieved his clothes from the floor, steadily putting them on in the proper order. "Be at work at 0830 tomorrow morning. Gwen and Rhys have a lead on the culprit that we can follow." He opened her front door, calling over his shoulder: "And I'm going to assume I don't have to tell you what will happen if you're late."

Shaylene swallowed as her door shattered Jack's angry fuming to bits.

* * *

Her real name was Katherine, as Jack would be quite pleased to know, and all of her mates had called her 'Kat', with the exception of Henry, who had always addressed her by her full name.

Henry. She had mixed feelings toward the man- she had loved him back when she'd been with him. It wasn't like they'd had an arranged marriage or anything. It had been good, honest, true love at first sight; they'd met at a coffee shop and he'd bought her a drink. They'd been together for a year and had been thinking about marriage when- well, when whatever had happened to her had happened.

Being here though? That had changed everything. She'd met Jack. And she could say quite frankly that Jack gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "means everything to me". He had rescued her in her time of peril, given her comfort, a job, friends, a _life_. He had paid her and purchased a flat for her. He had -to some extent- cared for her, maybe even loved her just a bit.

And now she had driven him away for what was likely to be the last time. Katherine was sure that this was the final time he would snog her and walk away. The next time it happened (and it was a 'when', not an 'if') he wasn't going to stop. If he wanted her for himself -and she convinced herself that he did- it wouldn't be long.

Of course, that was her selfish thinking, not her rational, reasonable, intelligent thinking.

* * *

There was an aching, gaping abyss that had slowly been chipped away due to stupidity, insincerities, withheld information and fragile emotions. The chasm had filled with water that had frozen to form ice. One would think the ice would be thick, but it was surprisingly thin. A step on the wrong area would send it shattering and Katherine -formerly "The Woman" and self-chosen as "Shaylene"- spinning and falling and burning through the gap. It was a balancing act, and one she wasn't keen to see if she could manage. Regardless of her opinions on the matter, she knew that Jack hadn't been warning her so much as promising severe consequences should she not come into work that morning.

But how could she keep herself from drowning and keep him afloat all the while? Whatever it was that was between them, she had a horrible, sickening, churning notion that it was going to come to a head today. The fact that her intuition was of the unlucky-just-followed-a-black-cat-under-a-ladder sort did not make her feel better in the slightest.

She tried to cheer herself up by donning a pale yellow sundress flowered with white, and a bright turquoise cardigan, but the lively shades weren't doing anything for her. Seeing as it was only 0430 and she had four hours until she needed to be at the hub, Katherine painted her nails the same colour as her jumper.

She flipped the telly on as she waited for them to dry and couldn't help but be irritated at the object suddenly. It was the TV's fault she had wound up here! Those stupid shows had to be the cause of her suffering. She wished she could remember what they were called. Didn't she have something that told her what they were?

Yes, it was upstairs, in- in... The desk! That was it! The- the diary? The diary was in her desk! Katherine raced upstairs with every intention of finding the diary or journal or notebook, whatever it may be, mind wandering back to... she couldn't remember! Where was work, anyway? Last time she'd checked, she was unemployed, having decided she was done working in a stuffy department store.

Henry had always told her she was destined for greater things, that she was immensely intelligent and should be able to get a job at any research facility she felt like, what with her degree in astrophysics.

She'd always just laughed and kissed him on the cheek for saying such nice things to her. Then he'd insist he was serious and his sincerity would make her blush.

Finding herself in her room (though it looked strange and not at all like the usually purple decked loft of her apartment in Seattle) she fought to remember why she'd even come up anyway. She settled for moving in on her desk, rifling through the drawers and finding nothing of interest, other than a well-worn copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. _'If hair be wires-'_

Katherine shut the book with a snap. She loved Shakespeare, but her head was pounding so hard, she could barely breathe, let alone think. She struggled to get herself down the steps without falling, catching herself on the rails a few times. Finally, she made it to the kitchen where she swept medicine off the countertop in an attempt to reach the Advil. When she picked it up, it slipped out of her fingers and onto the floor, her with it.

Her vision was fading to black, darkness creeping up on the edges. A single light remained, flickering in the pitch. Her trembling hand reached out as though to touch it, but her fingers went through the illuminated beacon. And then the shuttering light went out.

* * *

Katherine O'Leary rose from the floor as though in a trance, one thought in her mind; she had to make it to her destination at all costs.

She didn't know exactly where she was going or why she was on the floor or why she didn't know anything other than that. She didn't really stop to consider it, either.

Outside, stuff was falling from the sky. It was cold and fluffy and melted in the palm of her hand. She didn't know what to call it, but it fascinated her. The little bumps that rose on her arms in retaliation to the cool breeze were also quite the sight to see.

So she walked, feet bare and toes numbing, to wherever it was that her body had decided to take her. It was a short distance, only about a fifteen minute walk, but it felt as though it took much longer. Though her legs were focussed on the task at hand, Katherine's eyes often strayed to take in the people standing on their front stoops, exclaiming that the weather was queer for the summer. She didn't know what they meant by that, as her silver eyes were busy studying various shiny things with childlike innocence.

The office was by far the most boring part of her little quest, and she quickly bypassed it, enticed by the opening of the door. An alarm sounded and she flinched at the unusual noise.

"There you are, Shaylene, we've got rift activity. I need you to pinpoint it so that we can-"

"Who are you?" Katherine made a face of confusion laced with disgust and contempt. "And who's 'Shaylene'?"

Jack's eyebrows rose, but he humoured her: "I'm Jack. Your boss. And Shaylene's the name you chose for yourself. Now let's-"

"My name's 'Katherine'. Not sure where you got this 'Shaylene' business from."

"Okay, 'Katherine'," he said slowly, testing the name out on his tongue, bemused and unsure if she was pulling his leg. "Can I call you 'Kat'?"

Katherine contemplated it for a moment, though she couldn't really think about it, with all the empty air in her head. "I guess."

"Right," Jack drew the word out, a frown marring his previous look of confusion. "Where do you work, Sh- Kat?"

"I dunno," she shrugged.

"Did you go to University?" Jack was going to milk this for as long as Shaylene was willing to put up her façade. Besides, he was talking to her from the steps of his office, eyes locked on the device as he tried to locate the exact area where something had come through the rift.

"Uni- oh, you mean college? I guess."

Jack finally looked up, taking in her wet hair and clothes, shaking body, complete with blue skin and frozen feet. "Are you feeling all right, Sh- Kat?" He began taking measured steps toward her, not wanting to scare her away. As it was, when he'd started moving towards her, she'd started backing away.

"What does that even mean?" Katherine made a face.

"Are you sick?"

"Who are you?"

"I just told you my name was 'Jack'," he was close enough to feel her forehead, and she was burning up. Her hands and neck and shoulders were freezing though.

"Who?"

"Jack."

"I said 'who are you'!" She shouted, eyes crazed, expression positively delirious. "Tell me! Tell me now! Or I'll scream!"

At the exact worst moment, the alarm went off, signalling the arrival of Gwen and Rhys, who Jack was sure to wave away with frantic hands. Luckily, Katherine or Shaylene or whoever she was didn't seem too concerned with the fact that something loud had just blared in her ears.

Probably because for her, it was nothing compared to the noise in her head.

At this point, Katherine began screaming and crying, biting his arm savagely to get away from him. He cried out in pain, recovering quickly enough, but not before she'd ducked under his arm and began her sprint away. "Shit," he muttered under his breath as he watched her turn to the vault, already in pursuit.

"Jack!" He heard Gwen shout, "What's going on?!"

"Head to the cells, Gwen," he ordered, "Rhys, watch the camera feed and try to make sure she doesn't open anything im-" he was cut off by the familiar grating of parking breaks left on whilst driving. A peculiar blue box was materialising in front of him. "Now?" He groaned in disbelief, "he chooses _now_ to come? When she's having a fucking mental breakdown?" Jack ran an impatient hand through his hair, tugging and making it stick straight up. "Gwen, run. Rhys, tell the man who comes out of there how to get to the vault and to run as fast as he can and then go check on the cameras."

"Where will you be, Jack?" Rhys questioned as the Captain sprinted away.

"Searching for something!" He tossed over his shoulder.

Rhys frowned, but didn't argue.

* * *

Meanwhile, down in the vaults, Katherine had slowed to a walk. Her body was weak and she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to keep up much longer. As it was, she had to lean on a clear wall for a rest, her body wracking with coughs, doubled over and panting.

She was growing exhausted and she was not even close to having outrun that lunatic who'd tried to grab her. She didn't know what he wanted from her, but men like that -ones that are so attractive, it looks fake or is too good to be true- were no good. He gave her horrible feelings, chills down her spine and a tightness in her stomach she couldn't explain. He made her heart race in her ears and something inside of her flutter unnecessarily.

In short, he made her feel sick.

"Shaylene!" A woman with black hair and an accent -Katherine knew not from where it was derived- was speeding her way. "Shaylene, what are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Who are you people?" Her throat was raw and tears were streaming down her face as she crawled backwards in a crab walk. She had forgotten how to walk. "Who are you? What do you want from me?!"

"Shaylene, it's me, Gwen. You remember me! We're mates, you and I." Gwen said in a soothing voice, hands coming up to reassure the woman making keening sounds like a dying animal on the floor.

"My name is not 'Shaylene'! I'm- I'm- I don't know who I am!" Katherine was openly sobbing.

"I can help you," Gwen comforted her, kneeling down towards her. "I can help you find out."

"Y-you can?" Katherine sniffed, eyes red and puffy.

"Of course!" Gwen laid a placating hand on the other woman's.

Katherine -Shaylene- was about to say 'yes' when the Doctor could be heard trampling down the hallway, shouting "What's going on! Jack?"

Katherine made a noise of terror, thrust a hand behind her, disengaging the lock on the door, and scrambled backwards into the cell of a Weevil.

* * *

Slightly before, Rhys watched Jack run like he'd just found out he only had minutes to save the world, a pained, almost tortured look on the immortal's face. His wife had also left, and a blue police box was sitting in front of him. He wouldn't say that he could ever stop being amazed at all the mystical things that had happened him since he'd started working at Torchwood Three, but some of the novelty had worn off. Back to the box, though. Should he-?

Rhys shrugged and reached out a hand to knock when the doors were thrust open. A man in a bow tie, tweed jacket and braces was standing there, a red headed woman next to him and a dark haired man holding her hand.

_How had they all fit in there?_

"Hello," said bow tie brightly. "I'm the Doctor!"

So this was Jack's legendary doctor? He didn't look like much, not incredibly imposing and certainly not sane. In fact, he looked like a madman. And he was definitely grinning like he'd lost more than his fair share of marbles.

"Right," Rhys furrowed his brow, "Jack said you need to run to the vaults and to hurry. Head down that hallway over there and turn left..."

* * *

Jack, on the other hand, was digging around his room for the odd trinket. He had completely neglected looking for it and wasn't entirely sure where it was. He'd already torn apart his dresser searching for it, pulling out drawers, dumping them and then throwing the things aside without care. He had something much more problematic to deal with than broken furniture.

He had kicked the piles of clothes around on the floor, moving them with his feet to look for the small object, but hadn't made any progress. At that moment, he heard an ear splitting scream and he picked up his pace tenfold.

Jack ripped the sheets off his bed -God, the still smelt like her- pulling his mattress off the bed frame when it still didn't turn up. And there, wedged in between the wall and the box spring, was the thing.

Jack picked it up haphazardly, switching on his earpiece and screaming in Rhys's ear in a frantic accident. He was just too damn impatient to know what had happened.

"Shaylene just opened the door to a cell with a Weevil and is inside," Rhys informed him, voice shaking.

"I thought I told you," Jack growled, sounding very much like a possessive dog, "not to let her do anything stupid! You could have put the cells in lockdown!"

"I don't know how!" Rhys protested clacking away at keys and hoping he wasn't screwing anything else up.

"Open it," Jack bit out, turning a corner, long coat whirling around him wildly, "now!"

"I don't know how!" Rhys repeated, watery brown eyes shining with fear, "it's deadlocked!"

"Shit," Jack reiterated.

* * *

"Gwen! Gwen!" Jack's voice came through the phone to her. She had answered on the first ring, desperate for advice, seeing as she didn't know what to do. "Gwen, what's happening? Can you get her out?!"

"I- Jack, I don't know! This man-"

"My name is the Doctor!" The bow tie wearing alien complained. "Do I even look 'man'?"

Gwen gave him a weird look, somewhere between amusement and annoyance, "-is waving something-"

"Sonic screwdriver!" The Doctor cut in, "do humans ever listen?" He asked Amy and Rory who both opened their mouths to reply, "Don't answer that."

"Right... along the door, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything."

"Deadlocked," Jack panted, "tell him it's deadlocked. Oh, and that I say 'hi'." Bemused by her boss and his apparent priorities in the world, Gwen repeated what he'd told her to.

"Deadlocked, you say?" The Doctor grinned, "that makes it more difficult, but no less fun!"

_'"Fun"'?_ Gwen wondered, _'everyone's gone mad.'_

"She's in a cell with an alien that wants to kill her and you think this is 'fun'?" Gwen articulated slowly.

"Rude," the Scotswoman smacked the Doctor upside the head and he whined for a bit.

"What now?" Gwen pulled on the door, trying to use brute force to wrench it open. "We need to get her out! The Weevil's closing in on her!"l


	7. Finale

Skyfall

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: It wasn't meant to be real. She had only been watching the show. This- this however, was losing. Losing everything.

**Disclaimer**: _Torchwood_ is the product of many writing geniuses, directors, editors, designers, techies and -in general brilliant- people. I own nothing.

**A/N**: Thanks to all of the lovely readers for their lovely reviews! I treasure each one, and getting to read your opinions on each chapter is just spectacular. This is the last chapter, the first end of a multi-chapter fic I've ever written. Thanks so much to maggalina for her continued support in each and every one of the fics I write, as well as for Beta-ing for me when none of my IRL friends would. It's been a great ride and I truly enjoyed writing this one.

Look for the sequel! I hope to have it out by the end of the month, though it may not be out until later. It is likely to be a "Doctor Who"/"Torchwood" cross-over and it is tentatively titled **In the Silence that Follows**.

* * *

Jack rounded the corner: "Doctor!" The two hugged -however briefly- before Jack muttered: "Stand back!" And fitted a C-4 frame around the door. He coaxed everyone around the corner and hit the detonate button. A loud explosion was heard and before anyone had even managed to process what had happened, Jack was rushing past them.

Luckily, Katherine hadn't been near the door when it exploded, having crept closer to the Weevil out of dangerous curiosity. Unfortunately, the blast sent her right into the Weevil who now stopped its low rumbling and let out a monstrous growl. It shoved her back and she fell on the floor, where the Weevil sliced her neck opened.

At that precise moment, Jack came charging in, gun firing steadily in between the Weevil's eyes, despite the Doctor's protest.

"Jack!" He spat looking furious, "you just killed-"

Jack made it clear he was ignoring him, checking Katherine for a pulse instead. He found it, weak, and directed Rhys to get the first aide kit, easily whipping off his shirt to staunch the bleeding.

Amy's eyes widened a fraction before she broke out into a grin. Rory elbowed her the side and she winked at him, sticking out her tongue. "What's going on here? Who are you lot?"

"You changed faces again," Jack commented. "And you look younger."

"You just killed that creature," the Doctor replied flatly, in no mood to joke.

"The Weevil was about to rip her throat out!" Gwen spoke up, "and I didn't see you doing anything!"

"You said Torchwood had changed," the Doctor accused, waving the sonic screwdriver over her prone body.

"Let's talk about that later. What's your sonic picking up?"

"You're more serious than I recall," the Doctor frowned, "and her mind is deteriorating, not to mention that wound on her neck and the hypothermia. Jack, there is no way for her to live."

"Deteriorating? Alien writing triggered her past memories, then she remembered her past, which she had previously forgotten, but memories fade over time, and the new ones she'd made here were new compared to the old information about us, so she forgot that. So her old life took up those memories, but it was still too much information at once, so she forgot everything and her mind shut down," Jack summed up.

"Jack, what is this about? Why did you call me here?" The Doctor inquired as gently as he could.

"You're five years late!" Jack shouted, hands tearing through his hair again. "And now I don't know what to do!"

"What was I five years late for?" The Doctor was bemused.

Gwen, Rory and Amy, on the other hand, were all cast aside to watch the two of them. Rhys was still fumbling about for the first aid kit with no luck on his side in the morgue.

But the pair of timeless men were in the middle of a standoff, staring each other down.

"The watch," there was a croak from the floor, the battered body of Katherine taking a shuddering breath, "he- the- show watch. G-gimme."

"She's forgetting how to talk," the Doctor whispered sadly, pity in his eyes.

Jack, however, was rooting through his pockets, finally managing to dig out the trinket he'd retrieved from his room earlier. "The fob watch. Have a look."

"Is this-?" The Doctor traced the pattern of the solar system, reading the words engraved in Gallifreyan on the cover. "It belongs to a Time Lord," he gasped, breathless, "this isn't possible. I'm alone. The Master is dead."

"It belongs to Sh- Katherine," Jack informed him, "what does it say on the front?"

"-n-n-" tears were trailing down her cheeks, but she couldn't force the words out.

"Her name," the Doctor finished.

A smile barely ghosted across her lips as he pressed the fob watch into her hand. Shaking fingers managed to find the strength to open it and everyone had to look away at the flash of bright gold light.

* * *

Pain. There was so much pain. Then her memories washed over her, soothing and comforting. And the warm, tingling feeling of regeneration crashed into her and she could feel her face shifting and moulding into something new, something unfamiliar and unused. Something different.

Someone new but still the same.

* * *

"Jack," the Doctor smiled, catching Katherine before she could fall. "Meet Lady Katherinayadevrana of the house of Angels. The Lady Assassin," he winced as he stated her Time Lady title.

Her face had changed, but her eyes had stayed old. They were a sharp, crystalline grey. Her cheekbones were high and vividly pronounced, face heart shaped and nose tiny. Her hair fell in tight black curls reaching her chin and getting shorter towards the back of her head. She stuffed the fob watch into the pocket of her cardigan, the bright colour of which looked obscenely out of place of her clearly darker regeneration. "Am I missing any body parts?" She queried, running her hands down her arms.

Jack took a step closer, the word 'no' barely falling out if his mouth before her took her in his arms, his hands taking over hers. Feeling awkward, Gwen looked away, encouraging the others to do the same.

"Everything's in order," Jack murmured, fingers sliding up to frame her face. He leant his forehead against hers, pleased to find that she wasn't resisting him for once. "Do you remember me now?"

The Assassin -Katherine, Shaylene, The Woman; the evolution she had gone through was spectacular- opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off.

"I got the-" Rhys came sprinting in, panting and sweating. "Wait, did I miss something?"

Jack and the Assassin laughed. "Loads," the Assassin grinned, not pulling away from Jack. They weren't good yet, and they wouldn't be for a long time but had a foundation, a friendship to base their new relationship on.

Life was sweet for now, but it's always bitter in the end.


End file.
